UZHHOROD, Ukraine — This week marks the beginning of the brand new school yr in Ukraine, an important time for all students, especially teenagers of their final yr of highschool. Ukrainian teenagers have more on their minds than simply grades and college selections — they’re grappling with the realities of war.
A schoolboy, still haunted by memories of his hometown within the Luhansk region, which is nearly entirely under Russian control, struggles to adapt to life within the Kyiv region after surviving the Russian occupation. Homesickness stays, a continuing reminder of what he left behind. Two other teenagers agonize over the selection of their future occupation: planning for the long run while having to take care of the each day threat of Russian-guided bombs and missiles of their frontline cities.
Just before school began, the three found a time of rest and healing at a summer camp on the opposite side of the country. The camp for war-affected children was created and arranged by the Voices of Children charity and sponsored by the Olena Zelenska Foundation, the charity of the wife of Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky.
For the three teenagers, it was a rare opportunity to attach with other young people from Ukraine affected by war trauma and to take a much-needed break to regain strength.
“I am confident that I will have a future”
What 16-year-old Oleksandr Hryshchenko liked most concerning the summer camp in Uzhhorod, near the western border with Slovakia, was that “the war didn’t play a role there.”
“You relax, talk about what has been bothering you during the day,” he says. His village of Vorozhba is at the opposite end of the country, lower than ten kilometers from the Russian border, within the northern region of Sumy.
For him, the camp was a rare opportunity to flee the relentless explosions and danger, especially after the Ukrainian military advanced into the Russian region of Kursk, about 50 kilometers away.
“People who are further from the border are still happy about the capture of new villages, but they do not understand, do not feel, do not know what is happening in the border area,” he said. “The Russians have started attacking cities much more aggressively.”
The intensity of the shelling fluctuated throughout the war, but this summer was particularly difficult. Whereas the Russians previously relied on artillery, they now goal Vorozhba with way more fearsome glide bombs, which he describes as “much worse.”
Although Oleksandr has had the chance to work with psychologists within the camp and communicate with other children there, he stays in constant contact along with his family. During a recent attack, his house was rocked by the blast of a bomb, causing a lamp to fall from the ceiling.
His final yr at his hometown school will probably be mostly online. Many people left the village this summer, but Oleksandr said his family has no plans to go away yet.
“We know that if we leave now, there may be nothing left to return to,” he said. His entire family, including his grandparents, still live there, while his father has been serving on the front lines for the reason that first days of the full-scale Russian invasion in February 2022.
“For me, my father is the bravest person in my life,” says Oleksandr. The war has modified him, he says: he was a gentler character, but now he’s more reserved.
The effects of the war are a continuing worry, he said. “You think about it every night before you go to sleep. You think about it all day long, wondering what will happen next.”
Despite all of the turmoil, Oleksandr looks like he’s in command of his destiny. He focuses on his final yr of faculty, prepares for the doorway exams and chooses a university.
“I am confident that Ukraine will have a future, I will have a future and I know that everything will be fine, but we have to get through these times,” he said.
A community of war witnesses
Sixteen-year-old Valerii Soldatenko still has visions of his hometown in Luhansk region, from which he fled on August 29, 2022, after living under Russian occupation for about six months.
“There are moments when I see it almost before my eyes. I see familiar faces, I see these beautiful white hills,” said Valerii. His home village of Bilokurakyne within the north of Luhansk region is occupied by Russian forces.
For him, education was a key think about his decision to go away. In August 2022, just before the beginning of the brand new school yr, he fled since the Russian curriculum had been forced on him.
“I really didn't want to adapt to the Russian education system,” he said. “So it was clear that I was taking the biggest risk and could put my family in the greatest danger.”
His family settled near Kyiv, but Valerii still has trouble settling in. He longs for his friends, the familiar Luhansk countryside and his old house – a constructing fabricated from clay, hay and chalk with a blue facade and white columns.
Among the few belongings he brought with him is a friend's walnut shell, a precious memento as time and distance make it increasingly difficult to communicate.
“Before we left, we hoped to be back home in November or December and celebrate Christmas and New Year with the family,” said Valerii. “But as you can see, I'm sitting here and not in my home village.”
He got here to the camp to return into contact with other “witnesses of the war” and to reflect and understand how his comrades were coping within the front-line areas.
As he prepares for his final yr of highschool, he’s finalizing his college selections, although he continues to be unsure whether to pursue a profession as a journalist or a history teacher.
“I would say (the war) took away my childhood, especially after I escaped,” he said.
“It’s hard being a teenager in war”
Sixteen-year-old Kseniia Kucher dreams of her graduation day, imagining a celebration or a field trip together with her classmates. But with classes within the northeastern city of Kharkiv largely online attributable to Russian strikes, that will not be feasible.
Her family has packed “emergency bags” with vital items and documents, but has no current plans to go away the country.
“It's really hard, especially when the impacts happen at night. You're literally shaken out of bed because the explosions have shaken you,” she said. “And yet it's easier because you're still at home. You're with your loved ones and not in a foreign environment.”
In the camp, lots of of kilometers from Kharkiv, Kseniia found a rare opportunity to chill out. “I even started having some dreams here,” she said.
She particularly appreciated the nightly conversations with like-minded people, through which they exchanged their experiences and made personal contacts.
“I don't have many friends in general. And now they're all gone,” she reflected. When she's at home, she tries to not take into consideration her life before the war, but to deal with the current.
“I live in the here and now and don't make big plans for the future because, given the current situation, I don't know what will happen in a year,” she said.
She lives together with her mother and younger brother while her father serves on the front. Kseniia sees him once every few months.
“Being a teenager during a war is hard,” she says. “You don't fully understand your feelings and everything affects you – from a hurtful word to a hail of rockets. It's hard to live with.”
Originally published:
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